


Mornings. Who'd keep them?

by Saxifactumterritum



Series: Moments universe [9]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Stargate, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 18:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19856584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saxifactumterritum/pseuds/Saxifactumterritum
Summary: I did, again, write a Lorne thing, but I kinda liked this one. It's a random morning, Rodney's Rodney, John's happy.





	Mornings. Who'd keep them?

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: panic attacks, not graphic. Sex, no graphic (I don't give a fuck about fucking lolol ace jokes are funny)

Rodney wakes and there’s a moment when the world drops away, but then John’s slightly wheezy sleep-breathing registers and everything in him relaxes; John’s here, John’s home. He came back just for Rodney, to take care of him. Rodney smiles and turns, seeing John lying there beside him, loose and easy. He only gets that wheezy edge to his breathing when he’s really tired. Rodney feels guilty, dragging John all the way back here. He's been away all week, flying for a buddy of Ellis’s, excited for the opportunity to fly more than boring lessons or short business trips for VIPs. At least Rodney's epic panic attack had come at the end of the trip and it hadn't lost John anything except sleep to come home. Dreams of John dying had haunted Rodney on Friday night (well ok morning it was three am), and he'd finally given in late the next day, panic still coming, and called John, hysterical. It took John an hour and a call to Carson to calm him, and then Carson had come and sat on the floor between Rodney napping and the door, and stayed the rest of the afternoon until John arrived, late last night. And now he's wheezy and exhausted and iit’s all Rodney’s fault, for just not functioning correctly. 

“Slow down, buddy,” John says, breaking into Rodney’s whirlwind thoughts, voice drowsy. He rests a hand against Rodney’s side, yawning. “Why’re you awake at… fuck o’clock in the morning?”

“Fuck o’clock?” Rodney asks, frowning. 

“As in fuck knows where the clock is,” John mumbles, yawning again, eyes slits. Rodney laughs, which lengthens his breathing. Huh. He’d been going a bit quick. 

“It’s five am,” Rodney says, running his fingers through John’s hair. “Sorry. Oh gross, you have dirt in your hair, what.”

“Mmph,” John says, pulling his head out of Rodney’s grip. “You’ll just spread it all over the bed if you try and get it out here. It's just grit, I need a shower ”

“It’s already all over the bed, you… sand monster. Psammead,” Rodney says, pleased with himself for remembering the name. 

“Grit, not sand. Um… Sammy… What?”

“From that E Nesbit book. And film. A sand fairy,” Rodney says, lips twitching. John laughs, which sets Rodney off too. And lengthens his breathing again. Huh. 

“What’s it?” John asks, when they’re done laughing, thumb stroking across Rodney’s cheek. 

“What? What? That’s not English.”

“What is it? What’s wrong? You’re thinking really, really loud,” John grumbles, knocking lightly on the side of Rodney’s head then spreading his fingers, hand warm around Rodney’s head and the back of his neck, running down over his shoulder and back. “Slow down, Rodney.”

“You’re here,” Rodney says. “I’m useless.”

“Mm, both true,” John says. Rodney glowers, but John’s grinning his stupid, goofy grin, the one where he’s just genuinely happy. Huh. “Hey, Rodney.”

John presses closer, still smiling, forehead against Rodney’s, and kisses him. Kisses him like he can’t help doing it, even though he knows it’s hardly going to help a panic attack. Not that this is a panic attack, not yet. Rodney leans into the kiss, into John, into John’s soothing hands. John hums against his lips before pulling away, eyes lazy. 

“Hey, Rodney,” he says again. Rodney rolls his eyes. “Shh. It’s good to see you, shut up.”

“You’re not upset? Having to leave? And all that driving.”

“Mm… nope,” John says. “Missed you.”

“You did?”

“Yep. You usually ring me sooner, I thought you didn’t miss me any,” John says. 

“Stop pouting, you’re horrible! You’re a bloody  _ teenager _ . I got distracted, there was interesting work taking up all my thoughts. Is this what you’d have been like when you were deployed? Jeeze, I’m lucky DADT was in force or we’d never have survived your need to be rung up every  _ five minutes _ . You were gone, what, a day?”

John’s laughing, arms wrapped around Rodney, vibrating with amusement. It is quite good to have him home, actually, but Rodney really had been distracted. He opens his mouth to continue, but John’s kissing him again, with a little more intent this time. Rodney’s not opposed, so he gives in, letting John have his way, shelving conversation for later. John pushes him onto his back, straddling his hips, still kissing him. 

“These are my pyjamas,” Rodney says, breaking away, tugging at John’s Star Wars sleep-wear. “Off, give it back.”

John strips quickly, happy to obey, then does what he must think is a sexy wiggle and crawls up Rodney, who’s only wearing boxers. John doesn’t seem to see fit to take them off, and he doesn’t seem to want to do much, he sits in the cradle of Rodney’s hips for a bit, running his hands over Rodney’s chest and arms, gaze intent, bending to kiss him now and then. Rodney gets bored and flips them, getting out of his own underpants and trying to get things moving. John’s too languid and sleepy to do much, and too full of laughter, so it’s all a bit haphazard, but Rodney gets an orgasm, and so does John though through no fault of his own - he’s so incredibly lazy, leaving Rodney to do everything. The way he’s laughing when he comes is a bit disconcerting. He flops against Rodney, afterward, damp and humming Etta James. Rodney recognises it as ‘At Last’ and isn’t sure if it’s pointed. Maybe he should shove John off the bed. 

“Morning,” John says, arms warm around Rodney’s shoulder, leg slung over Rodney’s hip, thumb stroking behind his ear. “I would have rang you, like,  _ every day _ if I could’ve.”

“I know,” Rodney says. 

“Not to be romantic or anything, but I’d have been the greatest lover  _ ever _ . I’d have, have, have… skyped you for sex,” John says. As if that’s the epitome of romance. John probably thinks it is. 

“Come on then, Cassanova. Shower,” Rodney says. 

He finds sex invigorating and energising. It’s still early, but he wants to get up now, and have breakfast. Food is key. John’s more for staying in bed and snuggling and making declarations, but he’s in an indulgent mood this morning and follows Rodney to the shower. 

“No no no, we’re not showering together,” Rodney says, trying to push John back out of the bathroom, ignoring the pouting. “No! You hog the water and it’s too small and you’re so hairy and-”

“C’mon, Rodney, it’ll be quicker,” John whines. “Then I can cook for you. Hm? Bacon and eggs?”

“Fine. But I’m hogging the water today,” Rodney snaps. John shrugs, crowding into the bathroom and turning on the shower, pushing into Rodney’s space and kissing him, holding his hips. “And none of that! This room is tiny!”

John shrugs again and pulls Rodney into the shower. It’s not actually so bad. John usually takes less than a minute to wash off, today’s no exception. After that he focuses on Rodney, massaging shampoo into his hair, tipping his head back into the water with a hand on his forehead to keep suds out of his eyes, humming the whole way. He breaks into song as he washes Rodney, hips moving to the music just a bit. Rodney takes issue when he realises John’s singing ‘Hips don’t Lie’ and he rinses off and climbs out, leaving John laughing his weird honking-goose laugh. 


End file.
